


been moonin' over you

by liionne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkwardness, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, M/M, Slow Build, Sort of? - Freeform, hipster!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Bucky sees Steve, it's the last day before the semester really begins and classes start up. Rain bounces off the ground around them, causing puddles to form in the dips in the pavement and Bucky's view to be obscured as he squints across the courtyard. He's watching the smallest kid he's ever seen lug the biggest collection of sketch books he's ever seen towards the blocks of dormitories, skinny arms wrapped around them, trying to shield them from the rain and hold them all together as he half-runs half-walks towards the door.</p>
<p>It's when Bucky sees the sketch books begin to slip that he decides to intervene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	been moonin' over you

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first big Stucky work ever and I'm absolutely terrified but here goes. I'll but all my apologies and things at the end, because there's going to be a lot of them.
> 
> Oh also, my idea for Steve was very much based off of [this drawing](http://pidgeyons.tumblr.com/post/86024389318/punk-bucky-and-his-tiny-hipster-boyfriend-3) because it's just too cute. I suppose Bucky is kind of post-punk in this fic. More lax about it, or growing out of it, who knows.

The first time Bucky sees Steve, it's the last day before the semester really begins and classes start up. Rain bounces off the ground around them, causing puddles to form in the dips in the pavement and Bucky's view to be obscured as he squints across the courtyard. He's watching the smallest kid he's ever seen lug the biggest collection of sketch books he's ever seen towards the blocks of dormitories, skinny arms wrapped around them, trying to shield them from the rain and hold them all together as he half-runs half-walks towards the door.

It's when Bucky sees the sketch books begin to slip that he decides to intervene.

By the time he catches up to him, the sketch books have slipped, and one is just about to be dipped into a muddy puddle. Steve (though Bucky doesn't know his name yet) grapples with them all, slender fingers wrapping around them, trying to find purchase, until Bucky grabs the ones that are slipping and gathers them into his arms.

"I- I got it-" Is Steve's immediate response, until his fingers slip from the edges of a few of the sketchbooks and he lets Bucky grab those too. It's not like they're heavy, but they _are_ kind of cumbersome to hold onto. Steve looks up, pushing blonde bangs out of his eyes. "Thanks."

Bucky nods, and looks along the path, to the dorms. "I guess you're going in there, right?" When Steve nods, he asks, "Need some help?"

Steve pauses as if he's going to say no, and though Bucky knows that yes, he totally does need help, he keeps quiet. He wouldn't force him to take the offer. 'Course not. But he would watch him the whole way there to make sure he got there safely, and didn't ruin the sketch books, which he knows are expensive.

"Yeah." Steve says, and Bucky breathes again. "Yeah, that'd be great."

They carry the books inside- or rather Bucky carries them, and Steve leads the way inside, up a flight of stairs and along a corridor to his room.

Whilst on the way up, Bucky has been looking at Steve ("this kid" in his head). He notes the dark blue beanie and the red shirt, hanging open to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. When they stop in Steve's dorm, Bucky's sure he can see his ribs through that t-shirt, however baggy it may be. Steve is skinny, too skinny, like he might snap at any moment, like a strong breeze could blow him over. His dark skinny jeans show just how thin his hips are, how long and skinny his legs are, and, Bucky notes as they go up the stairs, how nice his ass is.

But that's something he stores away for later.

He throws his sketch books down onto his bed, and Bucky follows suit. He knows he's dripping, soaking Steve's carpet; he's been stood out in the rain for a while, thinking about lighting up. He's bee trying to quit smoking for a while now, and college is a fresh start- that should make it easier to quit, right?

So instead he turns to Steve. Steve, who pulls off the beanie now that they're indoors and throws it on his bed, revealing the crop of blonde hair underneath it- cut short at the sides and at the back, longer on the top. It's nice. Bucky thinks so, anyway. It makes him want to run his fingers through it- his fingers which twitch, now, but he chalks that up to the burning need for a smoke.

"Well, thanks." Steve says, looking at the pile of sketchbooks on his bed. "For helping me. Thought I could handle them-"

"I don't think anyone could handle all of those." Bucky says, eyebrows raising. "There's gotta be like twenty there, right?"

"Nine." Steve answers, and Bucky notes that there's a blush that has just sprung up, turning his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose pink. "I wasn't sure how many I'd need."

"You're taking art?" Bucky asks. There's a few drawings pinned on the wall next to Steve's bed; stuff he must be proud of, Bucky thinks, because they all has dates from way before now, one from last year, one from almost a decade ago.

"Uh-huh. Minoring in Drawing." Steve says, and he gives Bucky an awkward kind of smile. Bucky wonders how often people have laughed at him for that; a girl at his old high school wanted to do art and everyone laughed at her until she chose to do Biology instead. "You?"

"Slavic Languages and Literature." Bucky answers. He hates telling people his major because he's pretty sure they'll laugh too, but Steve looks oddly impressed. Interested, certainly. "Minoring in Russian."

"Huh." Steve murmurs. "I didn't even know they taught that. Like, at all."

"You'd be surprised." Bucky says, and he finds himself smiling. He doesn't smile all too often; he's known this kid five minutes and already he's crushing on him. That's the only explanation.

They stand there in silence for all of two seconds before Bucky takes a deep breath and a step back, towards the door, hands in his pockets. His fingers close around his lighter, and he'd actually forgotten about that for a moment, about the incessant need for a smoke. Once again, he thinks, this kid is getting to him. Maybe he can help him to stop smoking, actually.

"Well, have fun." Bucky says, and he cringes. "I hope you've got enough books." He adds, tries again, and that sounds somewhat better.

Steve's blushes a shade darker, and nods. "I think I'll be fine." He says. "But uh, yeah- you have fun." He repeats. He cringes too, apparently realising how awful it sounds for himself.

Bucky nods, and goes to leave. He only makes it halfway down the corridor before Steve pokes his head out of his door and yells down the hall, "I'm Steve, by the way."

Bucky turns, and ignores the strands of dark hair that fall into his eyes. "Bucky." He calls back.

Steve gives a small and yet oddly bright smile, and he nods. "See you round?"

Bucky nods. "See ya." He calls back, as he heads for the stairwell. Honestly, he hopes he will.

~*~

Bucky isn't known for his ability to rise when his alarm goes off, or for being on time, but because it's his first day he really does make an effort.

He managed to score a single room, his room mate having dropped out or something before term even began, so he uses the free bed to shove all of his shit on. He dresses dark, going for a black t-shirt and dark jeans, his usual leather jacket that covers his arm almost fully.

His arm is a big thing for him. He lost his arm when he was sixteen; he grew up on army base, an orphan, the son of an ex-soldier who had died in combat. He lost his arm in an accident with some artillery, which involved a lot of blood and a lot of shouting and his arm having to be cut off at the shoulder because there was absolutely nothing left of it below that, a mush of shattered bones and flesh. The metal arm was a gift, actually, from Stark's, the weapons provider. He got a letter from the CEO himself, Howard Stark, telling him that he was so sorry that his artillery had caused such a horrific accident and they had made this bionic arm thingy just for him and he could pop into Stark HQ any time he liked for free repairs and as he grew they'd give him free upgrades.

Which was nice, seeing as he was, and still is, broke.

But he doesn't like the arm. It attracts unwanted attention. Puts people off him. His favourite type of people are people who ignore it altogether.

So when he sits down in his first class of the day, _Introduction to_ _Slavic Languages_ , he keeps his left hand curled in his lap and his right up on the desk, a pen in hand, ready to take notes. He pissed around a lot in high school, spent a lot of time chasing skirt (although he didn't limit himself to girls, not at all) and not a lot of time doing work, but he's knuckling down now. He's going to do this right.

Two minutes before the lecture is due to start, a girl sits down by his side- though he uses the term "girl" very loosely. She's small, but she's curvy in all the right places, looks oddly strong despite the soft red curls that frame her face, and when she looks over at Bucky and smirks he thinks no, she's definitely not a girl, and he's going to make it a point to be her friend.

He answers a few question throughout the class, as does she, and as the lecture is an hour and a half long and their lecturer is boring as fuck, it becomes a contest. He sees her with a tally halfway through the lesson, must be noting down the right answers as points, and he decides to up his game.

He wins by one point; it's a sweet victory.

"So," She says, as Bucky shoves his things in his bag and stands, ready to go off and do... something. He might start doing some reading; they got given their reading lists over the summer and even though he's burnt through quite a lot of them, he's more than happy to keep going. "You did the reading."

"You didn't?" He counters, and she smirks.

"I skim-read." She says, and Bucky nods. She must be free now too, because she's following him out of the building and onto the courtyard. "Saves a lot of time."

"But isn't half as effective." Bucky adds, nodding to the tally at the top of the notepad she's carrying.

Her lips turn up into a wry smile. "You only won by one point." She points out.

He shrugs. "Makes all the difference." he stops, and holds his hand out to her. He stopped painting his nails a while ago, but that paint is just chipping now, the last few flakes starting to fall away. "Bucky Barnes."

"Natasha Romanoff." She says, and shakes his outstretched hand. Her nails are painted scarlet. It seems oddly fitting, and not just because it matches her hair or the vest top she's wearing. "Pleasure to meet you, Barnes."

"Pleasure's all mine." He says, turning on the charm as he shakes her hand in return.

Bucky walks with her through to the Starbucks on campus, grabs himself a coffee, and returns out into the sunshine. She says something about a guy called Clint and meeting him at the cafeteria, and he's about to follow when he sees a familiar skinny kid sat beneath one of the trees in the courtyard, a sketchbook on his knee and a beanie pulled low over his forehead.

"Actually- I've got somewhere to be." Bucky says, and Natasha nods. "I'll see you at 2.30 for the language workshop." He says, and she nods, gives him a small smile, and is on her way.

Bucky makes his way over to Steve, and feels butterflies begin to bat at the inside of his stomach. Weird. He's never felt that before.

He throws himself down at Steve's side with a huff, causing the other to look up. He's wearing glasses now- big, square-rimmed glasses, which he pushes up the bridge of his nose with his index finger when Bucky flops down beside him. It's cute. The glasses are a good look. That's another thing that Bucky stores away for later.

"Bucky." Steve says, and he sounds somewhat surprised. "Hi."

"Hey." Bucky returns, take a sip of his coffee. It's too hot, and he winces, but he swallows anyway. "So did you have enough sketchbooks?"

"I think so." Steve nods, and his lips turn up in a crooked smile, higher on the left than on the right. Bucky stares for a moment, and then looks up to meet his gaze. "Although there's a girl in my class who really does have twenty, so maybe I'll be proved wrong later."

Bucky chuckles, and takes the top off his coffee to let it cool. His eyes catch the drawing Steve's working at with a ball-point pen, a drawing of the scene in front of them, the opening of the university and the fountain that stands in the courtyard, the people that are sitting or milling around, going to classes, reading books, sketching like Steve is. It's good. Steve is good. Although Bucky supposes he must have to be to have gotten onto the course.

"I want to thank you for last night." Steve says all of a sudden, looking up. "I would've wasted a good couple of bucks if you hadn't come to my rescue."

Bucky knows books are expensive. His older sister, Rebecca (who went off to private school when she was fourteen and he was ten, but no matter) had been good at art, and she'd spent a hell of a lot of money on sketchbooks and pencils.

"You don't have to thank me." Bucky says. "I just can't resist a damsel in distress."

And there's that blush again, colouring Steve's cheeks, and Bucky feels his stomach flip. He wonders if, the more he blushes, it goes a darker and darker shade, or if it begins to move across his skin. He wonders what his neck looks like stained pink, what his chest looks like when it's not near-translucent like the rest of him.

"Well- I want to thank you, anyway." He says. "My room mate, Sam, is disgusted by my lack of movie knowledge. Especially horrors. We're gonna get some pizza and watch a few movies, if you want to join us?"

Bucky doesn't know who Sam is, but the invitation is very tempting- free food, scary movies, and Steve. He can't think of anything better.

"And we're gonna do it this friday night, so you could just camp out in our room for the night, if you want?" Steve adds, his wide blue eyes hopeful. How could Bucky turn him down when he's being looked at like _that_?

"Sure." He smiles. "Why not?"

~*~

When he steps into Steve's dorm room on friday night, he can already smell the pizza, and it smells good. There's popcorn on the go too, and beers, but Steve is sipping cola on his bed whilst Sam - or who Bucky assumes is Sam - rifles through a DVD collection on the floor.

"You Bucky?" He asks, when Bucky slips inside and shuts the door behind himself, kicking his boots off so that he doesn't get Steve's duvet mucky.

Bucky nods. "You Sam?" He counters.

Sam nods, and holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you." He says. "Steve's told me about you."

Bucky's gaze flits to Steve, who's looking very pointedly at the laptop and not at either of them, his blush just about visible in the dark.

"So what're we watching first?" Bucky asks, as he sits down next to Steve, reaching across him for a beer.

Sam sticks a DVD in and then sets the laptop on Steve's knees, sitting on the other side of him, squishing him in the middle. "First we're watching _Arachnophobia_." Sam announces, pressing play and leaning back against the wall.

It's a film that leaves Bucky feeling suitable crawly, and he grimaces when it's over, scratching absently at his arm.

"That was awful." Steve says, looking at Sam. "Bucky's picking the next one. You have the _worst_ taste."

Sam just chuckles, and Bucky thinks he maybe chose that one on purpose to gross Steve out. Bucky sips his beer, and chuckles silently at the thought. Sam and Steve must be good friends already; they seem so.

"Buck." Steve prompts, and he wonders where the nickname of a nickname came from. He doesn't care, stops caring when Steve bumps Bucky's leather-clad shoulder with his own scrawny one, and it actually packs quite the punch. Enough to break him out of his revery, anyway. He gets up and sets his beer on the floor, rooting through the DVDs. In the end, he goes for _Hostel_ \- _Saw_ is too obvious a choice, and if Sam is trying to gross Steve out, then Bucky is damn well going to join in.

It works. Steve grimaces, winces, and squirms, until eventually he declares that enough is enough and he switches it off.

"Pick another." He says.

Sam and Bucky smirk between themselves, and Sam goes to choose another movie.

Pizza nights become a regular thing. Other people are out joining fraternities and clubs and things, and though Bucky does sign up for a few things, and Steve signs up for a few things, they still always spend their Friday nights in Steve's dorm, watching horror movies and eating pizza. Eventually, Bucky asks Steve if Nat can come, to which he replies "The more the merrier". Nat then invites Clint, and Steve starts bringing a girl from his class, Peggy, along, and they all squish up on Steve's bed and watch horrors, and then camp out on the floor in Steve and Sam's room.

It's nice. It's nice to have a big group of friends, because before, Bucky was a bit of a loner. Never really had a lot of friends. He likes getting to know them all, and knowing that they know him in turn. He likes knowing that Natasha always orders hazelnut cappuccinos at Starbucks, and that Clint is actually amazing at archery, made the college team and everything, that Sam's dad was in the army and Peggy likes wearing vintage clothing. Most of all, he likes getting to know Steve. He likes to know things, the good things and the bad, like how Steve used to go to church every Sunday but doesn't have time anymore, that he has asthma attacks a lot but always has an inhaler on hand so it's alright. He likes knowing that Steve wears a beanie because he gets head colds a lot and they seem to keep them away, as well as because it's a style choice, and he could wear something else if he wanted to but he likes the beanies best.

Bucky just likes knowing he has people he can count on, people he can rely on. Actual friends who have his back.

But it's not like they're a clique or anything. Actually, Friday night is one of the only times when they're all together. Bucky and Steve usually meet up for lunch unless Steve has a project due and has to eat whilst he works up in the studio, and then sometimes Sam and Nat will get Starbucks and sit in the sunshine reading, or Clint, Steve and Bucky will go watch Sam play football. They rarely do things all together due to clashing schedules, but Friday night is always a given. They always have Friday night to look forward to.

And Bucky won't admit it, but he lives for Friday night. He and Steve are together more than any of the rest of them, but he lives for Fridays because he can press himself into Steve's side and feel Steve press back, squished up against each other until Bucky's forced to drape his arm around Steve shoulders just so they're a bit more comfortable, and Steve never says anything about his metal arm, never asks, never mentions it. Sometimes he thinks he imagines the way Steve leans into him, the way he'll subtly cosy up to him, but then he'll rest his head on his shoulder and Bucky knows he's definitely not imagining _anything_.

He's definitely crushing on Steve pretty damn hard, but maybe- just maybe -Steve is crushing on him too.

~*~

Natasha's room mate Pepper throws a party at the end of the first semester, to celebrate them all making it this far. And whilst none of them really know Pepper, they all know Natasha, and so, by association, they're all invited.

The entire block of dorms is shuddering with the baseline; some music student has stolen some speakers, it seems, and wired them up in Nat's room. By the time Steve, Sam and Bucky show up, the party is already in full swing, and they are handed beers almost as soon as they step inside. They can't find Nat or Pepper, but they see Clint and know that Nat can't be far away.

Steve looks at the drink in his hand, and bites his lip. Bucky watches him- at first he's watching how soft and plump Steve's lips are, wonders if there's a sharp pain as he bites his lip or not, but then he's focusing on what the action means:

Steve is unsure of himself.

"You don't drink?" Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs his shoulders, turns his blue eyes up at Bucky. "Never had the opportunity before."

"What, no parties at your old school?" Bucky asks, bringing the bottle to his lips. It's cheap beer, but it does the job, he supposes.

"Never invited to them." Steve corrects, and Bucky feels his chest tighten.

He throws an arm around Steve's shoulders, pulling him into his side. "Come on." He says. "Let's get absolutely smashed."

~*~

And actually, they do.

So much so that they end up in Bucky's room, on Bucky's bed, Steve lying beneath him and Bucky on top of him lying between Steve's skinny thighs and holding his hips tight enough to bruise, no doubt.

It started with a kiss. They weren't drunk, just... tipsy. _Dutch Courage,_ Bucky thinks, as he presses Steve up against the wall, one hand on his neck and the other on the wall by his hip, Steve's hands reaching out to find his hips and hold on as their lips meet. And at first, it's slow. Sweet. It's everything Bucky thought it would be.

Because these things- these things that he's been storing away, have been used for things like this. He hasn't just been cataloging how good Steve's ass look in his jeans or how long and slender his fingers are, but he's been looking for other stuff too. Steve's tongue poking out as he draws, the way he bites his lips. He's used that information to imagine their first kiss: the meeting of soft lips, Steve's slender hands sliding across his skin, their noses brushing as they kiss for the first time.

Of course, he's thought of other things, nights spent with his hand in his boxers. He thinks about just how good Steve's ass looks in those jeans, how much better it'd look without them. He thinks about Steve's slender fingers wrapped his cock, thinks about those soft lips sucking deep, dark marks into his skin, but when he's not spending time alone with his right hand, he's thinking about this: their first kiss.

And it's exactly like he imagined it.

But then it gets heated. They're stood in the stairwell where it's cooler, because it's boiling in the corridor where everyone else is, what with so any bodies packed in together, and with the privacy and the drink comes courage. Steve pulls Bucky's hips into his own, pulls him flush against him, and Bucky kisses Steve harder. He slips his tongue into his mouth, pins him against the wall with his body as the kiss becomes sloppy and messy and clumsy.

He drags Steve off to his room by the hand, and Steve follows, fingers entwined with his.

They close Bucky's door behind them, knowing they won't be disturbed seeing as he has a single room, and begin to strip. Bucky decides he's leaving the beanie and those glasses on if he's going to fuck him, because he looks far too cute in them, but he pulls off Steve's stupid plaid shirt and his t-shirt, and though it takes some wriggling they rid him of his skinny jeans too. Steve divests Bucky of his leather jacket and his dark v-neck, pulls his jeans open and down, palms Bucky through his underwear as he runs his other hand over Bucky's metal arm, and though he knows which sensation is better, he still enjoys the feeling of Steve's fingertips against the arm he usually shuns.

It's clumsy, and it's messy, and they use too much lube and they spend a lot of time on prep, too much time, and yet Steve still feels tight as Bucky pushes into him, hands on scrawny hips as he buries himself inside of him. The chords of Steve's throat stand out as he tips his head back against the pillow, knocking his beanie off centre, but it's not like either of them care. Bucky sucks a mark into the hollow of his throat. He likes how good it looks, the purple against Steve's pale skin.

It doesn't take long before they come, near simultaneously. Drink ruins their stamina and they spent way too long teasing each other for this to be anything but quick.

Bucky collapses onto Steve's side, half-lying on his chest, his metal arm draped over his waist. He pants as he tries to catch his breath.

"I'm gonna-" Steve huffs softly, catching his breath. Bucky wonders if he needs his inhaler, but he doesn't ask. Steve'll tell him if he does. "I'm gonna get cleaned up. I think."

Bucky nods. It's probably a good idea; dry come is a bitch.

He rolls onto his side to let Steve past, and watches him. He's still coming down from the high, just sobering up from the alcohol. Bucky turns to lie on his back. He feels good. He feels very good. Sex with Steve was everything he imagined and _more_.

He tries to coax Steve back into bed, but he says he has to go- Sam is drunk and needs help back to his dorm. He'd crash at Nat's but there's not enough room, or something.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Bucky asks, sitting up in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist.

"No, no," Steve shakes his head as he dresses, shimmying into his jeans again, and Bucky pouts, sad to see him cover back up. "No, I'll be fine. We'll be fine."

Bucky nods, doesn't bother arguing. He's kind of tired anyway, he thinks.

Steve looks oddly panicky, and Bucky isn't sure why. Steve reaches across for his phone, and Bucky catches his hand.

"Steve." He says, and Steve stops to look, blue eyes wide. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah." Steve nods. "Yeah of course."

Bucky nods, gives him a goofy sort of smile. He thinks he has every right to look that way; he just had sex with Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers, who he's been crushing on for the last four months, and it was every bit as good as he thought it was.

Bucky releases his hand. "Go on." He says. "Go rescue Sam."

Steve gives him an easier smile this time, a far more natural one, and nods. "Will do." He says. "See ya, Bucky."

"See ya, Steve." Bucky calls after him.

He lies on his side and thinks of Steve, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

~*~

Most people go home for the holidays. Peggy goes back to spend the holidays with her family, Sam goes to spend them with his mom (his dad's still in the  Middle East, and he didn't want to leave her alone), and Clint spends Christmas with his make-shift family of Carnies (a story which Bucky never gets sick of), which leaves just him, Nat, and Steve.

The school is still open. A lot of people still have projects to do for the next semester, and there are some professors still on site, either because they have nothing else to do or they really care about their students.

They spend a lot of time in the studio. Steve has a big project for his next semester, has to fill a portfolio full of sketches in different styles and things, using techniques Bucky doesn't understand and doesn't pretend to, and Nat and Bucky tag along because the studio is the warmest part of the school and they can sit and read their Russian literature up there. They have ten different texts to analyse and translate, and Bucky enjoys it. It makes him feel like a detective, cracking a code, even if he's almost fluent in Russian now.

But things between him and Steve are... weird. He's not sure what he was expecting. Maybe that they'd just be boyfriends from now on and they could holds hands and skip through the snow and have a jolly good time, but no. Apparently, it was something of a one night stand, but with your best friend. Steve doesn't speak of it. Bucky doesn't speak of it.

It's almost like it never happened.

But Bucky knows that it did, because Steve still has that hickey at the base of his throat that only shows when they get to the studio and he pulls his scarf off, if he's wearing a t-shirt low enough to show his collarbones. That reminds Bucky that it really did happen, that it wasn't just some elaborate fantasy that he dreamed up when he was half drunk and spending some quality time with his right hand.

He decides he's going to talk to Steve about it after three weeks, which seems like a long time, but it's taken Bucky this long to figure out what the hell is going on.

He texts Steve telling him he has to talk to him, but he gets no response. That means he's probably in the studio, and he's working, and he has his phone on silent.

So Bucky goes to the studio, but Steve's not there. He checks the entire art block. No Steve.

Now that's weird.

He goes over to Steve's dorm; the doors locked, so he's not in. He has a general open door policy- they all do. If they're inside, the door is unlocked, no matter what.

Bucky still hasn't got a reply to his text. He decides to call him, but it goes to voicemail.

And now he's panicking.

He runs around campus looking for him, ringing every so often when he can't find him in another place he thought he might be. He goes back to the studio, back to the dorm, makes laps.

When Natasha calls, he feels his heart stop.

"Barnes, breathe."

That's her first instruction. Bucky does as he's told, and takes a deep breath.

"Alright. I'm with Steve. He had an asthma attack, but it got real bad. Couldn't catch his breath. We're in the hospital now, he's just getting oxygen-"

"I'm on my way."

"-he's fi-"

"I'll be five minutes."

"Barnes-"

"On my way."

"Bucky!"

"Bye."

He hangs up. All he heard was _"Steve. Asthma Attack. Hospital."_ He doesn't care how bad or not bad it was, he's going to the hospital.

Steve sits on a bed, holding an oxygen mask. Bucky's boots are wet with snow and he almost hospitalises _himself_ trying to get to him, skidding along the hallway. Natasha rolls her eyes at him, but Bucky can see her hand on Steve's back, rubbing circles into his shirt. Soothing him. She might present herself as the Russian Ice Queen, but she cares.

"Steve-" Bucky pants, and Steve takes a deep, rasping breath. "You alright?"

He nods. "Fine." He says, taking the mask away from his mouth before replacing it, taking a breath. "Just trying to-" He moves it back to his mouth, takes a breath. "-catch my breath."

"Move over." Bucky instructs, and he settles beside Steve. Natasha disappears, says she's going to get Steve some water, and lets Bucky take over gently stroking his back.

"Scared the shit out of me, Rogers." He scolds, rubbing Steve's back as Steve gulps in air. "I thought you'd died. Thought I was gonna be called to identify your body."

Steve laughs, steaming up the mask, and then takes another deep breath. "I'm sturdier than I look." He says.

"I know that." Bucky murmurs.

Nat had pulled a curtain around the bed, and so Bucky takes this as his moment, however inappropriate it is. At least if Steve gets a shock, has a fit, the oxygen's on hand.

"Steve." he says. "About the other week."

And there it is. Steve takes a deep breath, chest puffing out. "What about it?" he asks, faking nonchalance. As if he can. As if Bucky doesn't know that he's freaking out.

"It wasn't- I wasn't just-" Bucky sighs. "It wasn't just a casual fuck. I really like you, Steve. I've been crushing on you for months. I get it if you don't like me back, but-"

"I do." Steve says, not taking away his mask this time. "I do like you."

"You do?" Bucky asks, dark eyes wide. Maybe it's him who needs the oxygen now.

Steve rolls his eyes. "Isn't it obvious? Been moonin' over you since I met you. My knight in shining armour."

Bucky chuckles, and brushes Steve's bangs out of his eyes, carefully not to knock his beanie.

"My damsel in distress." He returns, remembering that conversation. He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve's temple, and Steve pulls away the oxygen mask, only to have Bucky fix it back into place

"No way." He says, scolding again. "Get your breath back first, kissing later."

Steve chuckles, and Bucky presses a kiss over the mask, watching it steam up as Steve exhales.

When Steve does get his breath back, he removes the mask, and sets it down on the bed. He reaches out to pull Bucky forward, fingers curling around the back of his neck as he joins their lips.

It's soft, and it's sweet, and once again, it's everything Bucky imagined. And what makes it even sweeter is that, when Steve pulls away, he has to take another breath of oxygen just for good measure.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so apologies:
> 
> a) i'm sorry if i've butchered these two. 5000 words is a lot longer than it seems.  
> b) i'm sorry for typos. i did beta it myself but it's so late and i'm tired so i apologise for typos.  
> c) i know nothing about college. i'm british and in my last year of college, so i don't go to uni until next year, meaning i'm fucking clueless. i did do a fuck tonne of research for this, but there are probably still errors in there. call it artistic license?
> 
> anyway that's it. i think.


End file.
